Flash Fiction: No Refuge

The house is quiet now.  I stand in the hallway coming back from the bedrooms.  The walls are covered with family photos from happier days.  A frame with a half dozen photos grabs my attention.  Camping in the mountains.  The time we rode the ferry.  High school graduation.  The canoe trip.  I pull it off the wall, rip off the cardboard back, and take a photo of me, my mom, my dad, and my brother standing in front of a long forgotten restaurant.  The old photo fits in my fanny pack behind the extra boxes of ammunition.  I make my way back to the remnants of the front door.  My eye catches a flash of purple, yellow, and black, as a skink scrambles under the deacon's bench in the front foyer.  It doesn't have to worry.  The cat is long gone. 

I step out and glance at the tattered flag hanging limply from the flag pole in the overgrown front yard.  Little lizards dash for cover as they see me.  They find hiding places everywhere.  But, not me.  The old family home isn't the refuge it once was.  There is no refuge.  There is no stopping.  The neighbors from down the street are dead but still nosy.  They see me and start to shuffle my way.  It's time to go.

Zombie Flash Fiction: The Gift

I didn't know what to get grandpa for Christmas this year.  But, now I know.  I'm still really nervous.  I have to calm down.  This is the worst gift ever.  But, he needs it.  He's been in the house for months with grandma.  He just wanders around the house.  I can see him from the loft in the barn.  I can see him through the second bedroom window.  

When I close my eyes, I remember working out in the garden with him.  I remember building that greenhouse out back.  I remember all the Christmases and grandma's turkey dinners.  There are so special many memories that I want to keep.  I have to give him this gift.

Breathe in.  Breathe out. Breath in.  Breath out.  There he is.  Breathe in.  Pause.  Squeeze. BAM!  It's done.  Grandpa has finally gotten the gift of death.  

We couldn't let him wander the house with his body rotting and his intestines hanging out.  But, the tears won't stop.  Merry Christmas.

 Crosshairs graphic by Delapouite, Lorc and Sbed., CC BY 3.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0>, via Wikimedia Commons

 

Zombie Flash Fiction - The Dead Mall Crowd

The National Guard wasn't mobilized.  They were at home doing their regular day jobs.  The police were overwhelmed; either running home to protect their families, or stationed around government buildings.  That left me.  With a handful of my fellow security guards, I had to protect over 100 stores and over 800,000 square feet of retail space at one of the finest malls in Atlanta.  I also had a golf cart, pepper spray, and a walkie-talkie.

Photo by Donald Trung Quoc Don (Chữ Hán: 徵國單) - Wikimedia Commons - © CC BY-SA 4.0 International.
(Want to use this image?)Original publication 📤: --Donald Trung 『徵國單』 (No Fake News 💬)
(WikiProject Numismatics 💴) (Articles 📚) 17:35, 25 March 2020 (UTC) / CC BY-SA (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0)

Of course, we had heard about zombies on the news.  But, the situation was portrayed as handled.  Since isolated zombies were rumored to be around, I had a firearm stashed in my truck.  But, I wasn't allowed to carry one in the course of my duties.  Besides, I could just press a button on my walkie-talkie and summon police help.  Right.  Sure.

Due to frightening news reports of zombies around the city, the mall closed at 6 p.m.  and the shopkeepers and workers left soon after the closure.  As I let small groups of worker out of the locked doors, I sensed their fear and worry.  One older shopkeeper even gave me a big hug on the way out.  She told me to take good care of myself and I assured her I would.  With everyone gone and the steel gates down over the glass entry doors, I felt we would be perfectly safe.  Most of us guards would be all  alone on the inside and the zombies would all be outside.  Of course, my friend, Pete, was driving the roving guard vehicle around the parking lot.

Around 9 p.m. I took the cart out for rounds on the main floor.  I simply drove the cart up to each entrance and tapped my baton to a sensor near the door that recorded my visit.  Through the front door, I could see a commotion and a crowd up on the main drag, but they were obscured by hedges, signs, and bus stop shelters.  I wasn't sure what was going on outside.  I was just glad to be inside.  Still, I had a nagging feeling.

On the way to the front door, I thought I heard voices.  Perhaps murmurings or whispers?  But, when I stopped the cart, the mall was eerily silent.  As I made my way back from the front door, I heard the unmistakable sound of tennis shoes coming to a quick stop.  I knew we weren't alone.  

I radioed control and sped over to the service corridor that led to the restrooms.  As I hopped off the cart and started down the service corridor, control radioed back to let me know that a few dozen vehicles had just entered the parking lots from different directions. Just then, a hoodied figure burst from the restroom area and ran towards the emergency exit.

"Hey!" I yelled.  "Stop right there."

Of course, the running suspect didn't stop.  Instead, he burst right through the emergency exit.  The alarm bell rang loudly and I continued to jog down the long hallway in hopes that I could secure the door.  But, more than a dozen male subjects came running through the open door and right towards me.  I should be able to describe each of them in great detail.  But, the lead figure pointed a huge Desert Eagle .44 Magnum right at me and that dominated every corner of my memory.  I turned, ran right back to my cart, and chirped the tires getting out of there.  I zoomed right by all the high end jewelry, handbag, and watch stores.  

"We have armed intruders!" I hollered into the radio.  "We're going to need the police!"

I stopped around the corner of the main mall corridor, caught my breath, and peeked back at the high end stores.  Mobs were smashing windows with sledge hammers and chisels.  Store alarms were wailing, bells were ringing, and lights were flashing.  I saw people running into the stores and later emerging with pillow cases and bags filled with Gucci, Fendi, and all other sorts of high end merchandise.

My radio cackled with bad news.  Control reported that the police estimated it would be two hours before they could respond.  The tinkle of broken glass above me, let me know that shop windows on the second level were breaking.   Moments later Control reported that additional intruders had come in through another entrance and were attacking the big cell phone and electronics stores.  Looters were calling more looters.  The promise of unlimited Apple and Android devices was irresistable.  Pete radioed in and said more and more cars were coming to the mall.  

"Get back to the office," Control commanded.  "We'll shelter in place."

I looked back at the looting one more time and then came the gunshots and screams; the endless blood curdling screams.  People were emerging from the emergency exit corridors covered in blood and there was practically a stampede coming my way.  I saw the dead among them, grabbing looters, and biting into them deeply.  It still makes me shudder. 

"Help! Help!" a lady screamed with arms full of high-end handbags.

I just shook my head and floored it.  I had to dodge a few shoppers, but I  made it down the side corridor to the mall security office.  Our boss, Bernice, opened the door for me.

"It's time for us to leave," she told me and the other two guards on duty.  A glance at the monitors revealed that truth.  Panicked people were running everywhere and a large crowd of the recently dead was shuffling along behind them at a surprisingly fast pace.

"We're going to run and pile into the patrol vehicle," she said calmly.  "Then Pete is going to take us to our cars and then everyone do their best to be safe, stay out of trouble, and go home."

I took a look out the tiny window of our exit door and saw that Pete was waiting for us in the little SUV that patrolled the parking lots.  We gathered out things, huddled by our door to the parking lot, and made a run for it.  I haven't been back.  It's a dead mall now.

Ford Escape Security Guard Vehicle - photo by Bull-Doser / Public domain

Zombie Short Story - The Road Trip - Part 6

[Welcome to my short story serial, "The Road Trip."  In this final installment, things are looking pretty grim for our good folks.  But, if you're new to the series, you'll want to start at the beginning - Part 1.]

     Jeb and the store clerk, Darlene, backed into the El Dorado General Store and slammed the front door behind them.  Jeb's wife, Myra, met them inside with her lever action .30-30 carbine in hand.
     "There's whole mess of them coming," Jeb announced.
     As Darlene locked the front door, the dead launched themselves against the store.  She recoiled as the horde scratched against the metal mesh grid of the door and the burglar bars of the windows.  With each onslaught, the bells hanging from the inner door handle jingled with every onslaught and the moans and clawing of the dead made everyone uneasy.
     "This is an old building folks," Darlene announced in a raspy voice that showed the influence of a lifetime of smoking.  "I hope it will hold up to this."
     "Can we fortify it?" Jeb asked thinking aloud.
     "We can move the ice cream cooler in front of the door," Darlene suggested.
     "O.K.," Myra agreed.  "Good idea."
     Jeb pushed mightily on the cooler and it barely budged.  But, when Myra and Darlene added their muscle, the big cooler slowly moved into place blocking the front door.
     "That there was some girl power," Jeb observed.

     Darlene flexed her bicep victoriously and Myra suggested that Jeb start working out.  Jeb just nodded and reloaded his revolver painstakingly ejecting each spent shell until it was empty and then replacing each shell with another cartridge.
     The moment of levity passed quickly as the first piece of wooden siding on the front of the old store ripped from the building and fell with a clatter.  Additional boards followed in rapid succession.  Then a dead man's arm reached through the wall and started to wave around.  Jeb calmly walked over, grabbed the arm, looked through the small hole in the wall, and gazed into the dark bloodshot eyes of a zombie on the outside. 


      "You stay right there fella," he admonished the dead man.
      Then he cocked the hammer and squeezed the trigger to shoot that dead man right between the eyes.  It was a simple act, but inside the store, the roar of the big magnum was deafening.  Everyone jumped and every conversation was conducted at a yell.
       "Does this place have a back door?" Myra asked.
       "Yes ma'am," Darlene answered.  "And, my Dodge is parked out back!"
        More of the dead were clawing through the front walls of the store and Jeb shot two more.
       "Ladies," he announced as he replaced the spent cartridges.  "It's time for us to leave!"
       Myra grabbed her little cooler of ammunition and sandwiches and the trio made it through the junk food packed aisles of the store and back into the windowless store room.  They reached the  back door just as the dead started to break through the front walls and pour into the front of the establishment.  Flustered, Darlene was trying to find the key to unlock the back door alarm.  But, there were a lot of keys on her key ring.
       "You get the car unlocked Darlene, you take the ones on the right Myra, and I'll take the ones on the left," Jeb yelled.
        When zombies started to squeeze into storeroom, Darlene finally stopped fussing with the store keys and just pushed open the door.  After the gunshots, the siren blast of the exit alarm didn't even phase them.  The group just bounded out and dashed for a ten-year-old Dodge Journey SUV behind the store.  As they moved, Jeb and Myra fired at the nearest zombies.  They each felled one.  As they were older folks trying to run and Myra was still carrying a small lunch cooler, the rest of their shots had little effect.
     Jeb jumped into the front passenger seat, Myra dove in back, and Darlene ran around the front of her boxy SUV.  A zombie reached for her as she climbed into the driver's seat.  Darlene slammed the door on his bloody hand three times before getting it closed.  She started the Dodge and the engine roared to life with her panicked foot on the accelerator.

2010 Dodge Journey - photo by SsmIntrigue / CC BY-SA (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0)

        Seconds later they were bouncing down the dirt road that led from the back of the store up to the Omega Road.  The monstrous horde dutifully started to trail behind them.  Jeb said take a right, let's get my truck, and then we'll head to our place.  With the dead strung out across the fields, dirt road, and underbrush behind the store, Darlene just floored it, whipped up onto the Omega Road, and around the block to the ruined store front.  Jeb jumped out and ran for his classic Chevy.  A dead man in a farmer's overalls rounded the building and shuffled for Jeb at a surprising fast place.  Jeb pulled the hammer back, aimed for the head shot and squeezed the trigger.  Click.  Empty.  Jeb's heart sank as he realized he had already fired six shots in the previous mayhem.  
    A race for the truck ensued.  Fortunately a living retired farmer was just a bit faster than a dead farmer.  Jeb scrambled into truck and got it started just as the dead man grabbed his door.  Jeb popped the clutch with plenty of panic-stricken revs, and squeeled out of the parking lot with his back tires spun kicking up sand and gravel in the parking lot.  The zombie held on but lost his grip as Jeb spun the truck around to head south.  The dead farmer rolled across the pavement of the two lane highway and came to rest against a chain-link fence.  With Myra and Darlene in the lead, the survivors raced back down 41 in both vehicles.  
     Jeb and Myra's trip home was much faster than any of them had thought possible.  As soon as they got inside their home, the couple ever so faintly heard their phone ringing inside.  Jeb dashed in and picked up the receiver.  
       "Hello," he yelled.  "Hello!"
       It was Jeb and Myra's daughter Betty.
       "Daddy," Betty said frantically.  "We're trapped up here just outside of Atlanta!"

[Thanks for reading! If you're interested in reading more of my stories or my novel Zombie Complex, I invite you to visit my Amazon Author page here on Amazon.]

Photo credit:  Ruger Super Blackhawk photo adapted from photo by Everett Walker / CC BY-SA (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0) 

Zombie Short Story - The Road Trip - Part 5

[Welcome to my short story serial, "The Road Trip."  In this installment, there's fixing to be a brouhaha in a place called El Dorado.  But, if you're new to the series, you'll want to start at the beginning - Part 1.]

     Standing in the doorway of the El Dorado General Store, Jeb looked in the eyes of the zombie he called Flapjack. The dead man looked right back, moaned, and started shuffling towards the big farmer and the store.  In response, Jeb drew his big single-action revolver with his right hand in one smooth fluid motion.  As he brought it to bear, he cocked the hammer back with his thumb.  He turned slightly, brought his left hand up for extra support on the wooden grips of the big iron, formed a perfect isosceles triangle with his stance, caught a brief glimpse of the front sight, and squeezed the trigger.  The whole world exploded with the blast of  the .357 Magnum.  So did Flapjack's head.

Ruger Black Hawk photo by Mika Järvinen from Finland / CC BY (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0)

     Ordinarily Myra wasn't the kind of woman who could be told what to do or where to be.  She was planning to dash by Jeb and get her rifle from the truck.  But, when that big magnum went off, she appeared to levitate about four inches of the ground, did a pirouette worthy of the Atlanta ballet, and ran right back into the store.
     It was a good thing because Jeb had to turn back to his right and deal with dead homeless lady.  If you think life comes at you fast, Jeb would tell you that death can come at you pretty damn quick.  The homeless lady had about four feet to go when the big Black Hawk spoke its gospel once again.  Jeb hoped she'd find a home with Jesus.
     Next a zombie clambered up on the hood of truck, Jeb wasn't having that so he got a quick shot off that hit the zombie in the chest and sent him tumbling backwards to the other side of the vehicle.  Zombies came around the front and back of the truck and from around the two gas pump island further out in the parking lot.  Six gun math was starting to look grim for Jeb as a dozen zombies were converging on the store.
     He was surprised to see Myra dart past him and jumped into the front of the truck.  As he dispatched the closest zombies on his left and right, she ran back into the store with her rifle and the lunch cooler.  As Jeb backed towards the store, he was surprised by a couple of shotgun blasts nearly right over his shoulder.  The store clerk, Darlene, was standing in the doorway with a double-barreled coach gun.
     "You don't expect me to sit out here in the middle of nowhere alone do you?" she asked the temporarily deafened old farmer.  
      Together they retreated back into the store as the dead gathered for a bigger fight.

Coach Gun - Short double-barreled Shotgun - photo by Marcus Burns / CC BY (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0)

[Thanks for reading.  For the exciting conclusion of our story, read Part 6!]
    

Zombie Short Story: The Road Trip - Part 4

[Welcome to my short story serial, "The Road Trip."  In this installment, Jeb and Myra think they may be able to trade some vegetables for merchandise.  But, they meet some customers who might have other ideas.  Of course, if you're new to the series, you might want to start at the beginning - Part 1.]

     Leaving the dead man dead in the road behind them, Jeb and Myra continued north on highway 41.  The cab of the old truck was silent and somber save for the clicking of Chevy's six-cylinder engine and the rustling of the wind in the windows.  After a few minutes, the couple began to see more houses, mobile homes,  small industrial buildings, a church, and a general store.  According to legend, El Dorado, is some kind of lost city of gold down in South America.  But, in the southern part of America, it's just an unincorporated rural community in Georgia.  If there was gold in our El Dorado, it's been gone for a long time.  For most visitors, it's a place for desperate folks to get off the highway, use the restroom,  gas up, and grab some sort of snack.

     Jeb also knew El Dorado was a place plenty of hard working folks called home.  He saw the aging El Dorado General Store on his left and pulled across the road into their sand and gravel parking lot.
     
     "Lotto, Food, Beer, and Wine," Jeb announced.  "I wonder if they'll want to trade for some fresh vegetables."
     "I wonder if they'll shoot you dead for walking into a convenience store with a gun?"  Myra replied smartly.
     "I think I'll be alright," Jeb said.  "They know me here."
     "I don't see any of those monsters so I better leave the rifle here in the truck."
     "Well, let's go in and see how they're doing."
     As Jeb opened the heavy steel and glass door, a string of jingle bells did their thing to announce his presence.  Jeb just poked his head in, and looked around.
      "How y'all doing?" he asked in a rather booming voice.
      A skinny older lady with salt and pepper hair and a million wrinkles peeked from around the register.  A long southern conversation ensued.  Her name was Darlene and it turned out that she once went to the same church as Jeb and Myra.  While they talked about zombies, they also covered every other possible topic.  It turned out that Darlene had a son in rehab for drug addiction.  Jeb and Myra would pray for his recovery.  Another of her sons was selling tractors down in Valdosta.  Her daughter was away at Agriculture school, but decided to join the Army and is over in Germany.  Her grandchildren were supposed to come for a few weeks in the summer.  Myra hoped they could come to vacation bible school.  They must have talked on and on for an hour.
     In ordinary circumstances, such a conversation would drive big city folks crazy.  But, in these times of crisis, the conversation merely provided time for lots and lots of big city zombies to walk right into the tiny Georgia settlement known as El Dorado.  In fact, when Jeb walked out to get the bushel of butter beans that he sold after all that conversation, he found he had plenty of company in the parking lot.  The state fair portalet and death smell alone would knocked most men over.
     To his left and about thirty feet away was the ghostly pale shell of a used car salesman from Warner-Robins.  Well groomed and athletic in life, his appearance in death was marred by deep cut across his face that exposed his skeletal jaw and left his cheek flapping across his car dealer polo shirt.  To his right, a very dead homeless woman in an overcoat was wandering around the periphery of the gas station lot.  Jeb could see the silhouettes of at least a dozen other zombies partially obscured by this truck.
      As Myra edged out the door behind him, Jeb motioned her back and said, "You better go inside."
      He unsnapped the holster top strap that secured his Ruger Blackhawk .357 Magnum.  It was an old school single-action revolver.  Whatever was going to happen next was going to happen just the way John Wayne would have done it.  Jeb decided Flapjack would be target number one.

[Thanks for reading!  Read on to see if Jeb can flip a flapjack!  Check out The Road Trip - Part 5]

Zombie Short Story: The Road Trip - Part 3

[Welcome to my short story serial, "The Road Trip."  In this installment, Jeb is in quite a pickle.  But, if you're new to the series, you might want to start at the beginning - Part 1.]

     "Oh Lord," Jeb prayed aloud.  "Let me start this truck!"
     The old farmer pumped the gas twice, pulled the oversized steering-column-mounted shift lever back and up into first gear, depressed the clutch, and turned the key.  As the old straight-six turned over, he heard the dead man's hand slap the side of the truck.  As the engine roared to life, a gnarled claw-like hand reached in through the open window. 

1953 Chevy 3100 Pickup Truck

     This time Jeb had the presence of mind to ease the clutch up nice and slow while pressing on the gas.  The '53 Chevy truck accelerated away leaving the the zombie behind.
     "That was close," Jeb turned and said to wife.  "Myra!?"
     Myra's side of the bench was empty and the door was slightly ajar.  He was shocked.  Then he looked in the rear-view mirror in time to see his wife of forty years confronting the dead man eyeball-to-eyeball.
     As for Myra, from a distance of about fifteen feet she looked directly into the eyes of the dead man and the dead man looked right back at her for a moment.  It seemed like an eternity.  Myra wondered if she saw any hint of humanity in the dead man.  But, the dead man just moaned and took a step towards her.  It was his last step.
     Myra had her .30-30 carbine at the ready, brought it to her shoulder, focused only for a moment on the front sight, and squeezed the trigger.  In a bloody instant the dead man dropped to the ground.  Myra turned away from the ghastly sight and backed off the road.  When she looked up, the old Chevy 3100 was between her and the body.
     "Honey, are you okay?" Jeb asked.
      Myra was shaking and pale.  Jeb's voice was muffled to her as adrenaline raced through her body.
      "Myra baby," he asked again. "Are you going to be okay?"
      Jeb sat for a moment and said, "I was wondering where you went?"
     Myra took a deep breath, opened the door, and unsteadily guided the Marlin back into the gun rack.  Grabbing Jeb's outstretched hand, she climbed back into the truck.


     "I wasn't sure you'd get it into gear," Myra said. "I figured I better keep him from hitching a ride."
     "That three-on-a-tree manual is gonna be the death of me!"
     "The death of me too!"
     "Do you think we should stop and bury him?" Myra asked as they started back down the road.
     "No.  It's too dangerous," Jeb replied.  "There might be more like him out there."
     "Then let's say a prayer for that poor man's soul."
     Jeb pulled the truck over into the median and the couple bowed their heads. Jeb said a few somber words that were barely audible over the engine.  When their prayer was over, they got back on the two lane road that was Highway 41.
     "I think we'll definitely be making a pit stop in El Dorado," he said.
     "Yes," Myra replied. "I think we're both going to have to tinkle."
   
[Thanks for reading this zombie story.  You can continue on to read the next installment here:  The Road Trip (Part 4)]

Zombie Short Story: The Road Trip - Part 2

[This is the second part of my serialized series of short stories.  To start at the beginning of this series, read "The Road Trip-Part 1."]

    With a full load of vegetables and canned preserves, Jeb and Myra pulled out of their drive and started their journey to the north in their old Chevy pickup truck. 

   "How should we go?" Jeb asked.

   "If we take the highway," Myra replied.  "We'll get their faster."

   "If we take 41," Jeb said.  "We'll have more options if something happens and we can stop in some of the little general stores on the way up."
   "Then 41 is definitely the way to go."
   Driving gently, Jeb piloted the '53 Chevy across the nearby interstate overpass and hung a left to head north on Highway 41.  In this part of Georgia, it was merely a well-maintained and striped two-lane road.  Soon the truck was clicking along at a steady fifty miles per hour through rural Georgia on its trek to market.  Farm fields, an occasional house, and small stands of pines broke the monotony. It wouldn't be a long trip and it was a familiar route, but Myra sat mesmerized looking at the arrow straight road and the endless ribbon of railroad tracks to their right.

US Highway 41 in South Georgia (courtesy of Google Maps)

After a few minutes, Jeb started squinting and looking far down the blacktop.  A little ways ahead, a bearded man in an open blue denim shirt and jeans stood in the middle of the road.
    "Is that...what is that guy doing in the road?" he asked as he started to slow the truck.
    "I don't know," Myra replied.  "Do you think he needs help?"
    "I reckon we'll see what he wants," said as he pushed in the clutch and brought the truck to a stop alongside the man who stood alone in the opposite traffic lane.
     "Hey fella," Jeb hollered in a friendly but booming voice. "Do ya need any help?"
     The man turned revealing a two gaping chest wounds and a bloodly torn up ear.  A streak of dried reddish-brown blood soaked his denim work shirt, the tee shirt he wore underneath, and his pants all the way to the ground.  Jeb recoiled and practically jumped to the middle of the bench seat.  Even the old truck jumped as the Jeb inadvertently popped the clutch.  In its top gear, third, the old truck lurched ahead about 30-feet and completely stalled.
     As Jeb regained his seat, he could hear the dead man moan and see him growing larger in the rear view mirror.  His revolver was pinned awkwardly to his hip by the lap belt his kids had lovingly had installed.  His only choice was to start the truck.

<It looks like Jeb better get it gear or he's gonna be drooling and shuffling.  Read on in the next installment - Part 3!>

Zombie Short Story: The Road Trip - Part 1

     Jeb was sweating a bit as he loaded a box of preserves into his old Chevy truck.  Bushel baskets and wooden boxes filled with fresh cucumbers, pole beans, butter beans, onions, and even peaches made for a complete load.  It had been a lot for an old man to plant and a lot for him to harvest, but as he pushed the box of preserves across the bed of the truck he was proud.

A 1953 Chevrolet 3100 Pickup

     "Not bad for a retired farmer," he thought to himself.  But his thought was interrupted when the side door to the garage door jerked open and his wife stormed in.
     "Jebediah Ruben Simmons, you stubborn old mule," Myra Simmons said indignantly. "You need to listen to me!"
     "Woman," the old farmer replied. "I hear you."
     "You don't need to go into town.  You can stay right here on this farm."
     "Myra, if I don't go into town, people in town don't get to eat."
     "If you believe the news, you know the people in town are doing a pretty good job of eating each other."
     "You know that's just the worst video they can find.  There's good people in town, there's families,  there's refugees, and they need food."
     "Jeb," his wife said pointing at the classic Mustang sitting next to his truck.  "You know exactly what kind of people have come down here from Atlanta."
     "Darling, you know I can deal with any trouble that comes my way."
     "I don't know that and you don't know that.  You're too damn old for this stuff."
     "I'm going," Jeb replied.  "My grandfather told stories of using corncobs for toilet paper and I'm not fixing to start down that path.  We need stuff too."
     "It's too dangerous!"
     "It's not too dangerous," Jeb answered. "I'm only going up to Tifton!"
     "Good, then I'm coming with you!" Myra retorted before storming out.  Speechless, the old farmer knew he had been outmaneuvered.
     "Damn it," Jeb muttered as he pulled on his Bulldog cap.
     Next, he strapped on his revolver, hopped in his truck, took a deep breath, and hit the garage door opener.  The '53 Chevy started right up and he eased her slowly out of the garage.  Jeb remembered when his kids had "stolen" his old truck, fixed it up a bit, and had it painted.  The deep eggplant color still looked good.  It still had the original 216-cubic-inch straight six, but that was all Jeb needed.  The truck rejuvenation had been the best birthday gift ever and it meant a lot.  He hoped his daughter Betty and her kids were alright out there.
     As Myra came out looking as beautiful as ever.  She had a small cooler in one hand and carried her .30-30 Marlin in the other.  She opened the passenger door, slid the rifle into the gun rack, and slid up onto the bench seat.
     "What's for lunch," Jeb asked.
     "Two sandwiches, potato salad, two Coca-Colas, and two boxes of ammunition."
     "That sounds good to me."

[To hit the road with Jeb and Myra, read the next installment "The Road Trip - Part 2." If you'd like to read a previous Chronicle of Jeb, check out my short story "Something You Oughta Know."]

Zombie Flash Fiction: The Beautiful and the Dead

     "Run.  Run," Gina said opening the shop door. "Get on in here girl!"
     "Oh, I'm so glad you're open," Tanya said slamming the door of her Lexus.  She trotted nervously in from the parking lot with her revolver in one hand and a small totebag in the other.
     "We ladies need our hair fixed up," Gina said knowingly.
     "You got that right,"  Tanya said nodding her head.  "My do needs to be done!"
      "How are you and the family?" Gina asked.

Photo by Goldmund100 / CC BY-SA
(https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)

      "Good, good," Tanya replied adding in a low voice. "You know my husband and my boy managed to break into the drugstore down the road."
      "Oh they did," Gina said.  "How'd they manage that?"
       "Through the roof with a chainsaw," Tanya said proudly.  "Once they were in, they had the whole place to themselves."
       "Ooooh, but girl, didn't the noise of that saw bring them in from miles around?"



       "Hell yeah," Tanya exclaimed.  "The hubs and little Johnny barely got back to the truck.  Johnny almost got bit, but he's real good with a knife now."
       "Oh that's good.  Useful skill now."
       "So how's your mama doing with all this?"
       "Oh she's real worried about  her sugars and running out of her medications," Gina said.  "And it's not like she can go to the doctor now."
       "You said the doctors got her on Metformin right?"
        "Oh yeah, she takes Metformin and she was taking Gly, Glybur-something, but we don't have enough food for her to be messing with that anymore."
        "I thought you said she was on Metformin so I got you some," Tanya said with a smile.  "That totebag is for you."
        "Oh thank you honey," Gina exclaimed giving Tanya a big smile. "And look you got us some canned food too."
        "I'll hook you up," Tanya said proudly.  "But, I'm kind of mad at my hubs.  He was in that store for an hour and he didn't bring me any makeup, lotion, or anything."
        "Not even a lipstick?"
        "They didn't even get soap."
         "Men," Gina said shaking her head.  "They got no sense of priorities."
         "They were in a whole drugstore full of makeup and aisles of product."
          "You and me should go," Gina said.  "When the dead walk, I can make do with drugstore product."
           "We could go through the store with a more refined eye.  I know I've got a list."
           "Alright,  we've got a ladder and a van in back.  We'll go in a little bit."
           "We'll have fun!"
           "First though," Gina said getting back to business, "what are we going to do with this hair?"
           "Well, these bangs are getting on my last damn nerve . . ."

Zombie Flash Fiction: Forever Walking

Sleepless.  Tired.  Wired.  Hungry. Parched.  We pressed onward. Just climb the ridge. Just follow the road.  Walking west forever. My shoes were almost worn out.  I hadn’t showered.  I didn’t care.  I didn’t even want to remember eating.  My thoughts were a jumble of memories of the world that used to be.  The news reports of the spreading virus were a fading blur.  Ahead was the army. Soldiers.  Relief.  Shock!  Why shoot at us?

Photo by Rodrigo Fernández / CC BY-SA (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0)

New Short Story on Amazon - Neither Seen Nor Heard

If you are looking for a zombie fix, I've just released a new zombie apocalypse short story on Amazon:  Neither Seen Nor Heard.  This story fits right into the Zombie Complex neighborhood without any spoilers.  I'm very excited about this story because it follows the harrowing apocalyptic  journey of society's most vulnerable people:  the elderly and young children.

In the story, a great grandfather is left to mind his great grandchildren while the rest of the family goes off to forage for food and gather supplies.  Unfortunately, that was days ago.  When we join the great grandfather and his young charges, they are getting hungry and worried.  As food dwindles, they venture out to find something to eat.  But, can these very different generations work together and survive?


I really enjoyed writing this story and hope you enjoy reading it as well.  I'd really appreciate your review or rating on Amazon or Goodreads.  As always, feel free to DM on Twitter or e-mail about the story.  I'd love to hear your thoughts!
 

Flash Fiction: Thirst.

"Do you think the water is still good?"
"Well, babe, it still comes out of the faucet."
"But, are there zombies floating around in the water at the treatment facility?"
"Heck, are people even working at the treatment facility?"
"Maybe we should boil it?"
"Definitely!"
"Will that take care of zombie parts floating around in the water?"
"I don't know, babe."
"Can we use bleach to purify our water?"
"Yes."
"How much bleach do we use?
"I don't know."
"Why didn't you learn this stuff before zombies were a thing?"
"I don't know."

Photo by National Institute for Occupational Safety and Health (NIOSH) from USA [CC BY 2.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0) or Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

Click here for more Flash Fiction on this blog.

Answers about water in an emergency:

Grid Shutdown:  How Long Will The Water Last?
Top 5 Easiest DIY Water Filters You Can Make At Home
Emergency Disinfection of Drinking Water

Zombie Flash Fiction - Black Friday Z

River kicked back in his tent.  On this Black Friday, he occupied the third spot from the door.  He would be the third person through the door at Big Box Electronics.  The security guard had already given him a certificate that guaranteed he would get 75% off the price of the newest PlayBox gaming system.  It would be sweet.  All he had to do was make it through the night.  He felt the cold hard sidewalk through the floor of the tent.  A shiver went through River's whole body.

Photo by Paul Budd [CC BY-SA 3.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)], from Wikimedia Commons

Beating the cold was just a matter of mind over matter.  He had a whole thermos of his mom's hot chocolate.  At 16, River didn't need his mom to make him hot chocolate.  But, tonight, he was really glad that she did.  His mom and stepdad, Phil, were being really cool about Black Friday.  He just snugged down as far as possible in his cold weather sleeping bag and pulled the zipper all the way up.  Then he gingerly extended his arms out so he could rest his arms on the pillow.  He was in his fighting position.  Tablet on.  Game on.  Bluetooth synched.  He unwrapped a chocolate energy bar and placed it within easy reach.  Then River carefully placed his noise cancelling headphones on.  Every ear was encapsulated and warm.  He rotated the microphone down into position and dove into the game.  His whole squad was online and ready to rock.

The battle was intense.  He heard screams throughout the night.  The explosions were so real and so vivid that River thought he could feel the concussion of each grenade detonation.  The hours rolled by and the kills accumulated.  River and his crew were kicking ass.  They were unstoppable.  Then, he caught the flashing of his smart watch in the periphery of his vision.  It was 4:50 a.m.  It was almost go time.  He quickly said his "goodbyes," shut down the game, and stowed his tablet.

According to plan, his mom would be there to secure his tent shortly after the store opened.  He would be through the door, dash back to video games, get his PlayBox, and then he would pick up some accessories on the way out.  His gift cards were charged and he was ready to go.  As he pulled off his headphones, he could hear movement outside.  The crowd was rattling the steel grate that protected the BBE front door.

"That's bullcrap," River muttered under his breath.  "I'm number three!  That PlayBox is mine."

He slithered out of his thick sleeping back and maneuvered to get his jeans.  He tugged on them and met resistance.  Someone outside was standing on the tent and his pants.  River was angry.  Dad had paid a lot for this tent.

"Hey jerkwad," he yelled.  "Get off of my tent!"

He snatched his pants and pulled them on.  He heard the tent fabric ripping.  He was mad as hell now.  But, he stifled the emotion.  His mom and dad had told him that he didn't know anything about the people he was camping with.  Some of them were poor and desperate they had said.  Don't piss them off and don't show them any of your gear they had reminded him over and over.

"Hey Bro.  It's cool.  We're chill," he said as he unzipped the tent.

He hopped out to see that the whole front of the store was mobbed.  His mom and dad had been right.  There were a lot of poor people.  Many of them had torn parkas and coats.  Of course, there wasn't a police officer or security guard in sight.  Still, he was number three and he was going to get his PlayBox.  He had a certificate.  His spot in line was guaranteed.

River heard a menacing snarl behind him.  He shouldered his pack full of gear and whirled.  It was the jerk who stomped on his tent.

"Hey man," River said.  "It was pretty uncool to . . ."

River stopped talking as the man on the tent looked up at him.  The man's eyes were black as coal.  The black-eyed man charged at River and pinned him up against the hard brick wall of the store.  The man's hands grabbed solidly onto his jacket.  There was no life in the man's eyes and he snarled savagely as he leaned in for a bite.

"No," River yelled. "Get off of me you freak!"

River blocked upward with both arms to knock his assailants hands off of his neck momentarily and ducked under his assailant.  The man grabbed River's hood and pulled him backward.  The teen responded by smacking his assailant across the face with the bag of electronics.  His assailant paused, but was unphased.  He had no reaction at all to pain.  River kicked the man in the nuts and it didn't even phase him.  It didn't phase him at all.  River grabbed his assailant's arms, swung him around, and threw him to the ground. 

The crowd turned and looked at River for a moment.  River realized that none of them were concerned with the discounts that they would receive on big screen televisions.  They all shared the same dead black eyes of his assailant.  They also all started to move in his direction.  River turned and ran as fast as he could away from the store.  As he neared the edge of the parking lot, he saw his mom and stepfather driving towards him.

He had never been happier to see their metallic blue Chrysler Town & Country Mini Van in his life.

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays Zombie Fans!

-------------------------------------------

As a special offer for all readers of Zombie fiction, I've reduced the price of Zombie Complex to $1.59 through New Years Day 2019!

Read "Dog Walk of the Apocalypse" for Free

Interested in a free read?  This weekend from August 17th through August 19th, 2018, you can download my short story "Dog Walk of the Apocalypse" for free on Amazon.  You can read it on your Kindle, Kindle App, or free Kindle Anywhere on your PC.



This short story literally was a lost chapter from my novel Zombie Complex.  I went in a slightly different direction with the narrative of the novel but I liked what I had written.  I went ahead and adapted it to a short story format so that I could share it with you.  I really hope you enjoy it.  If you do, I invite you to check out Zombie Complex.

A New Short Story coming to Kindle - Zombie Cage!

I have a new short story coming to Amazon Kindle very shortly.  It's called, Zombie Cage, and I think you'll love it.  It's a short read with lots of suspense and horror.  While it's not related to my novel Zombie Complex, it is set in the city of Atlanta during the same zombie apocalypse.  It follows the quest of scientists and security personnel to immerse themselves in the middle of a zombie outbreak for scientific purposes.  What they discover about zombies may shock you!

Zombie Flash Fiction - Rhonda's Ride

     Rhonda loved her new car.  It had everything she ever wanted in a car:  leather seats, a kickin' stereo, a back up camera, phone connectivity, internet radio, and all kinds of safety features.  The car could practically drive itself.  It was smart!  But, today, Rhonda was getting a little worried about the news.  S*&t was getting real!  People got some freaky ass disease and were running around biting people.  Today, Rhonda just wanted to drive straight home.  Of course, she had to go through the old Cumberland Village to get there.  Bumper-to-Bumper:  as always!

Photo By Niels de Wit from Lunteren, The Netherlands [CC BY 2.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

      Last week, the sorry ass DJ's on the car radio were laughing it up.
     "There's no such thing as zombies!" they said.
     "Watch out for Frankenstein," they laughed.
 
      They were saying something different today.  Their asses were on the radio beggin' for someone to please bring them some food.
     "Oh, I have food," Rhonda yelled at the radio.  "I have food for my children!"
     "I just have to get it home," she muttered to herself.

     Rhonda looked to her right and some dude was biting an old lady in the neck.  She looked to her left, at the oncoming traffic, just in time to see a redneck dude plow his pickup right into the back of a stopped car--kaabam!  Airbag deployment and everything.  Everybody was looking at the carnage surrounding them.  Everybody was in shock.  But, Rhonda didn't have time for that kind of mess.  She had to get the groceries home and lock up tight.  The kids weren't going anywhere!

     The noise of the collision seemed to bring all the crazy biter bastards out.  They were everywhere.  The car in front of her hit the gas and opened up a gap in the traffic.  But, the biters just walked right into the road and filled the gap in.  There were dozens of them.  Rhonda had to get through zombies or no zombies.  She saw a spot on the sidewalk and punched the accelerator.  If the biters wouldn't get out of the way, she would just run their asses down.

     Suddenly, a big red light lit up on her dashboard and the car came to a halt just six inches from a couple of the monstrous pedestrians.  She punched the gas and car wouldn't move.  She slammed it into reverse, the backup camera came on revealing more dead pedestrians.  The car lurched backwards and came to a half after moving all of two feet.  The red light on the dash warned her again.  The car revved and went no where.  The car would not be used as a weapon.  It would not run down pedestrians.

     "Oh no," Rhonda cried.  "This ride is too damn smart!"